


Hop

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Aragorn goes to a party.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136





	Hop

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for noivenotturnedgood’s “playboy bunny Legolas” request on [my Dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html?thread=37798#cmt37798).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

_There’s no party like a Thranduil party_ , several of the guests say, and despite his step-father’s dry opinion, Aragorn’s forced to agree. Yes, there’s perhaps a bit _too_ much alcohol on tap, but that’s to be expected when the hosting manor borders a vineyard, and Thranduil’s prouder of his winery than most parents are of their children. Aragorn attends partially to be polite, partially for the delicious food and familiar old friends, and perhaps mostly to see Thranduil’s child. 

It’s a hard task to accomplish in the busy halls of Thranduil’s sprawling estate. The guests are numerous, the open grounds vast, and there doesn’t seem to be a single room or corridor left empty. Hired minstrels are dotted all over the place, banquet tables set up in every second hall, and servers circulate with trays of ‘only the best’ vintage. It doesn’t help that those servers are dressed _just_ scandalously enough for Elrond to let out a telltale _sigh_. At least Arwen doesn’t seem to mind it; she strikes up a long conversation with a particularly attractive young woman in the same fishnet stockings and heels. Elladan and Elrohir openly enjoy the one-piece bathing suits that cover the servers’ bodies, cut thin between their legs, tight around the middle, and peeking in a sweet-heart neckline so low that they just _barely_ cover the nipples. Headbands topped with pure-white rabbit ears complete the look, matching the fluffy white tails attached to the rear. Given that every single server is a gorgeous elf, doubtless handpicked by Thranduil himself, they make for quite a distraction. 

Aragorn quietly sips his wine and keeps an eye out for pale gold hair and a deep green suit—that’s Legolas’ favourite, and he’ll likely wear it for an occasional like this. That’s assuming he’s attending at all. It’s equally as possible that he’s flittered out for a ride or even crashing at Gimli’s. Aragorn drifts away from his family and searches anyway. The music’s pleasant, the finger-food is appetizing, and the idle chatter’s fun in places though dull in others, but it’s all an utter bore compared to Aragorn’s closest friend. 

Then he finally spots a patch of intricately braided yellow hair at the top of a spiraled marble staircase, and he sets his glass on the nearest server’s tray, hurrying after that telltale flicker of sunshine. 

The glimpse moves, disappearing behind one column after another, hidden around enormous bookcases and the few sparse bodies that litter the mezzanine. Aragorn gives chase, down another corridor and up another flight of stairs, until he manages to corner Legolas in a small study above the main ballroom. The raucous music below hums through the floor, the chitchat still near enough to buzz. But there’s no one within eyeshot, so Aragorn gets to enjoy the view alone. 

Legolas smiles at him, standing tall and beautiful, a thousand times more handsome than any of his father’s best choices. His trim body is draped in the same barely-there black fabric that adorns the servers, his long legs encased in the same mesh tights. He wears flats, but the rabbit ears atop his head still mark him taller than Aragorn. Aragorn’s eyes fall across the corseted waist and the broad expanse of exposed chest, just the barest hint of rosy pink peaking over the two pointed tips of the velvet bathing suit. Aragorn drifts closer like he’s in a dream, and this time, Legolas doesn’t run. 

“Estel,” Legolas all but purrs, in that way of his that makes a delighted shiver snake beneath Aragorn’s very skin and bones. “I am so glad you came.”

“I would not miss it,” Aragorn returns, though he would have, if he thought Legolas anywhere else. His eyes finally reach Legolas’, caught on that piercing silver-blue, and the way that Legolas smiles so thinly and yet so full. He waits for an explanation, but when one doesn’t come, he asks, “Are you serving tonight?”

Legolas’ laughter is light and twinkling. It echoes around the little room and encases Aragorn in a familiar warmth. When Legolas shakes his pretty head, one of the thin braids brushed back behind his ear sways over his bare shoulder. “No. But interesting to know you think my father would put me to work in such a way.”

“I was not suggesting so; more likely you would put yourself in that position.” 

Legolas laughs again. Despite the way his father dominates his kingdom, Legolas has become such a free spirit in his maturity. Legolas offers no further insight, so Aragorn guesses, “Ah, is this an act of rebellion, then?”

“It could be,” Legolas muses, although he hasn’t been that way in decades. His head tilts, and one lean leg stretches out—he takes a careful, graceful step forward, coming close enough that Aragorn can smell the rich cologne that clings to his peach skin. “Or it could be curiosity, as to what a certain someone might think.”

Aragorn seizes the invitation. He lets his eyes dip low again, this time not holding back—he devours every line and curve of Legolas’ exquisite form. He even allows himself to drink in the smooth plains of Legolas’ plush thighs and the slightly bulge between them where the fabric securely cups his crotch. Under Aragorn’s scrutiny, Legolas playfully turns. He wriggles his taut rear, forcing the attached tail to flick. Something’s stirring in Aragorn that isn’t anywhere near appropriate for a party. 

Legolas takes his time turning back around. When he does, Aragorn admits, “This is my second favourite look on you.”

“And the first?”

Aragorn fixes Legolas with a ravenous gaze, and he can tell at once that Legolas understands. Legolas has lured a lion into his den, and now he’s at risk of being eaten. 

Ever wise, Legolas murmurs, “Ah... perhaps it would be better if you were to _show_ me your favourite. Preferably in private.”

Aragorn extends a hand. His expression should say it all. 

Grinning knowingly, Legolas takes that hand. He tugs Aragorn off towards his bedroom, where Aragorn always knew he would wind up.


End file.
